


Inside The Box

by grayorca



Category: Castle Rock (TV), Siren (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 02:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16379933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca/pseuds/grayorca
Summary: Crossover. From within or without, the box can only be so restricting.





	Inside The Box

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IceCreamRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceCreamRaven/gifts).



> Companion piece to _From The Depths_. Very recommended reading before this!
> 
> Written with _Castle Rock_ characters in lieu of _Siren_. The casts of these two fledgling shows are a darn near perfect match.

Silence.

That is the most unnerving thing of all - the presence _and_ absence of it.

This place he finds himself in is not short on strange and mystifying sights, smells or sounds. Beeps and strange colors and smelly chemicals. Were he not so inherently terrified every last second of every waking hour, he might have set aside some time to relax and think. 

At least at first.

It’s not easy. The very proximity of these clear, see-through walls has him anxious. Still. They’re too close. There’s hardly enough room to curl around and reverse position.

Or there is, just not without bumping into the walls. 

The water is agreeable enough. Tepid and clean, at least. It feels different from open water. It doesn’t burn to breathe and no part of him feels numb or overheated, immersed in it for so long.

How long has it been since he was tossed in, there’s no way to tell.

Long enough he’s grown quiet.

——-

Being loud was what got him in trouble to begin with.

Not intentionally, but there’s no way to hide the noise of a grumbling, empty stomach.

His wasn’t the only one complaining. The lack of food had everyone edgy as of late. Each hunting party returned with smaller and smaller holdings to show for their efforts.

 While the elders retired to deliberate for the umpteenth time, consulting with the alphas over where to try next, he and another snuck away to fish for themselves. Yes, they were young and impulsive for doing so, but that was, in fact, the thing about _being_ young - going through impulsivity, as a stage.

Neither of them were so reckless besides. What could one little foray hurt?

——-

Rounded up and forcibly hauled to the surface by a noisy, smoke-spewing vessel - that didn’t exactly hurt. The sensation was more jarring, being ensnared in the rough, salt-encrusted webbing with so many bycaught fish bunched up around him.

No way out.

Unceremoniously dumped out onto a hard, metallic surface - _that_ had hurt. It was only afterward, lying there covered by a blanket of quivering, thrashing fish, he heard the panicked shouting did he realize there was no time to simper and bemoan his misfortune.

Humans.

He had to get away. Fast.

Before they figured out what to make of him.

——-

_“Shark?!”_

_“That ain’t no shark!”_

He acted without thinking. The newfound sensation of weight, gravity trying to get a grip, slowed him for only a precious few seconds. Using his hands he grabbed, pulled, and vaulted forward. He was surprised how quickly he still managed to move. The storm raging above their heads kept the deck slick, easy to slide across.

Hand over hand, he hissed and fled to cover. Too fast for the humans to see where he went. Between the rain and the wind and the darkness, he had some advantages to work with.

Tail lashing, he thought he felt one of his fintips snag against another warm body.

There was no time to stop and admire his handiwork.

——- 

Somewhere in the clamor to follow, trying to find open water, he took a wrong turn.

The round opening didn’t lead back to the sea. Barely avoiding the humans’ speartips he barreled headlong into the void, and fell. The landing was soft, the hold already somewhat-filled with sloppy, stagnant seawater and the bodies of older fish.

Scrambling, fingers rasping on slimy metal walls, he wheeled about, seeking an exit.

No such luck. The closest opening was at least a few body lengths above his head - the same one he had entered through, too high to leap toward.

The very sight of it made him keen in despair, slam from one wall to the next in frustration, seeking a weak spot, trying to break out. He wasn’t a hunter, a warrior who knew how to generate legs, feet to be stood on in place of a tail. His gills were burning, trying to compensate for his underdeveloped lungs.

It seemed of no consequence at the time, not knowing how to change in full. All they wanted was to -

_They._

He stopped, shoved his panic aside, and listened. 

There. Beyond the idling rumble of the vessel’s heart, he heard it.

Somewhere nearby, just outside the metal hull, his companion was circling and singing. Calling, to ease both their fears. Assuring him he wasn’t gone, left alone to the mercy of the humans.

He sang back.

In that small way, it wasn’t so unlike their outings before - using sound was the only way to keep in touch. Even those foragers with the keenest eyes could only see so far.

Whatever adverse effect it had on the humans who heard it, that was to their own peril. They ought to stay on the land they came from.

Just like _they_ ought to have stayed -

The surface of the hold lifted away. He stopped singing, squinting against the new glare of light, calm giving way to alarm once again. That light wasn’t natural. Too strong to simply be reflected moonlight.

Coiling, he hissed at seeing the broad-shouldered silhouettes, framed at the opening’s edge. 

He drew back into the corner, the hiss escalating into a throaty snarl. Nowhere else to hide. 

One of the men brought a device to bear, a weapon, some kind of spear with no tip, just a rounded shaft with a hole at the end. 

Curiosity overcame his aggression in a short instant. He didn’t think to dodge aside before it made a small puff.

Something stung him in the arm, and the snarl turned into a shriek.

——-

The next time he woke up, it was in a much smaller space. Snapping out of whatever sleep the poison forced upon him, he tried to bolt, to flee. It only make sense to try.

He didn’t think to look where he was going. Again.

The first wall he ran into _thunked_ , but not in the same deep reverb the boat’s hull had. 

What was more startling was being able to see through it.

And all the human faces looking back.

Several of them, clustered together. They looked to be part of some kind of group, wearing the same white garments over their torsos. Some had flat pieces of wood tucked under their arms.

Hissing, bubbles leeching from his mouth, he drew as far away as he could. Feeling blindly with one hand, he pulled himself into a corner, curling his tail beneath himself, spines held flat.

He heard a splash and looked up. Water was sloshing against the walls of the tank, already worked into a lather. Filled almost to the surface, his movements churned it as easily as a tide pool isolated upon an exposed reef.

The comparison made him wilt in bittersweet remembrance. 

How many times had he and the other visited such places, hauling out like sea lions to investigate what low tide left stranded in those pools?

Movement caught his eye. 

The white-coated humans fanned out, encircling the tank from all sides. He couldn’t spin fast enough to keep eyes on them all.

Screeching, he vaulted at the new, grated ceiling. It gave only a metallic _bang_ and refused to budge. The water went even more frothy and foamy.

With a new ache for the effort he withdrew, coiling up in his corner again.

A few charges later, he stopped trying to break out. The bruises smarted too much, the echoes of his own voice defeating his ears.

All the while, the humans watched.

——-

Gills and spines flared, he tried biting the first hand to come within reach.

The lid was lifted off, just far enough for his observers to thread a few squirming fish into the tank. The little silvery things were dropped in alive.

He took a clawing swipe into the air. With some satisfaction he felt two claw tips snag skin. The human gave a howl of pain and fright.

Settling at the bottom, he saw them cluster around their wounded colleague. His once-white sleeve was streaked red.

The three fish grouped up, flitted by his face, well within reach to grab.

He ignored them.

——-

There’s no sun to judge the day by, no moon to count weeks to. No need for stars, as he has nowhere to go.

Eventually he starts to accept this as his new present. The fish keep being dropped in. The water stays clean and oxygenated. He stops trying to charge and rake the glass.

He stops calling once it becomes there is no one nearby to answer.

He needs to stop wasting energy on such fruitless attempts.

He needs to look out, beyond the glass, and start to understand.

Stop and think. Study.

Like the elders are always saying, like the alphas are always doing. Foolishness was how he got into this situation. Smarts will have to get him out.

He starts to look, from one face to the next. He starts listening to their words, reads their body language, pays attention to when and why they look at him the way they do.

Only when his empty stomach complains the loudest does he lash out and grab a fish, mincing it’s body between his incisors. The scales glint and billow out in a faint cloud around his face.

The humans seem to perk up, watching it happen.

Waving the scales away, he doesn’t take his eyes off them.

Smarts, and time.

What else does he have to work with?


End file.
